


Knowing Lingo

by ghoulaesthetics (astraielle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 05:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13920822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraielle/pseuds/ghoulaesthetics
Summary: “Last time we were out with Cole, you mentioned something about having a plan to kill everyone you come across—something like that, anyway, I don’t remember the exact phrasing.”“And let me guess, you’re wanting to know if I’ve thought the same of you?” He finished the unspoken question for her, though not unkindly.“Well, me, the rest of the Inquisition—not that I’m worried. But it is a strange thing to admit.”





	Knowing Lingo

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that One banter with cole & bull, you know the one. it stuck with me & here we are. i have Many Feelings about this man.

She couldn’t sleep.

That much wasn’t really unusual. Before the Inquisition, most of her waking hours were spent during the night, moving from place to place under the cover of darkness and spending time only with the safety of her own company. And despite the fact that Isenril had been named the Inquisitor for just under a year now, her body hadn’t quite caught up with the new schedule. Walk during the day, talk during the day, sleep at night, rinse and repeat. It should have been easy--and nearly everyone else seemed to settle into it just fine. Every now and then, she’d see a cluster of days where she’d get it right, and she’d wonder if she was finally starting to adjust. But then a new problem would arise, new stress she’d be expected to deal with, and she’d be back to longing for her nocturnal schedule. 

Technically, her turn to keep watch over camp and keep the small fire going had ended five hours ago. Five hours that she should have been asleep, but instead found herself tossing and turning on a bedroll, mind refusing to quiet each time she managed to convince her eyes to close. Nighttime was supposed to be muffled and comforting, but instead, her Elven eyes saw too far and sharply into the dark to allow her to ignore the sense. Crestwood was alright during the day, she guessed, and at least the nights were warm, but she was no less alert now than she was when they were walking. With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself up from the ground. She sidestepped Varric and Sera quietly, both of who she envied slightly--they seemed to have no trouble at all finding rest. 

And then there was Bull. Or, The Iron Bull, she supposed. The full title, article and all, felt too strange to her to use as casually as Cole did. He was somewhere else in Crestwood with Solas, Blackwall, and Dorian, and she wondered if their conversations ever got as strange as the ones she’d overheard. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was difficult not to tune in when there was nothing else to listen to for the long stretches of foot travel. And he seemed awfully fond of Bull too, or at least, it seemed easy enough for him to slip into the Ben-Hassrath’s mind. She’d learned more about him through that than any conversations they had had, and while she knew enough social cues to know it wasn’t for bringing up  _in_  conversation with Bull just yet, she still tucked away what she could mentally. It felt somewhat justified, she reasoned, given that he was no doubt doing the same to her, and he probably didn’t even need the Spirit's help to guess at what she was thinking. 

Right now, he was the one awake for the watch. His back was turned when she approached, outlined by the soft orange glow of the flames. He looked relaxed, but she had no doubt he was still listening intently to the sounds of the night, ready and alert for whatever may approach. 

“Boss,” he greeted easily as she walked up. “Pretty sure it isn’t time to switch off yet. You should be asleep.” 

“Should be,” she agreed, somewhat bitterly as she sat down on the ground beside him. The fire warmed her instantly, and she held her hands out closer to the flames to feel it more directly. “It would seem that my body missed that one, however. I hope you don’t mind a bit of company--I doubt I’ll actually be getting any real sleep tonight.” 

He shrugged, giving her a brief glance. “I’m not stopping you. Besides, I get it. Sometimes it just doesn’t happen. Nothing you can do about it aside from try again later.” He shifted some of the burning logs about with a sizeable stick, sending a small cloud of ash and embers up. It wasn’t a big fire, lit more for light than actual warmth, but it was a pleasant thing nonetheless and he’d be loathed to let it go out on him. 

“Hm, something like that. Of course with the kind of luck _I_ seem to attract, we’ll probably end up caught in something ridiculous tomorrow before I get a chance to.” She pulled her coat tighter around her body, grumbling slightly. “Just you watch, when the sun rises and we set out again we’re going to find ourselves ass-deep in undead or in a dragon fight, or something equally... Well. You know. Like that.”

“Ah, come on,” he laughed, “One of those sounds  _way_  better than the other.”

“Oh yes, I can’t wait to take on the walking dead. They make for such pleasant conversationalists. Really, a lovely bunch.” Her voice was somehow both completely dead and theatrically exaggerated at the same time. Isenril didn’t consider herself an overly negative person, but she already knew that trying to function both as herself and as the Inquisitor while running on no sleep was going to yield poor results. At the very least, she’d be in a rather unfortunate mood for the rest of the day. 

He laughed again, which in turn coaxed a small chuckle out of her. Tomorrow’s challenges could wait, she supposed. This, at least, was a peaceful moment. 

“Hey, could be worse.”

“Oh?” 

“Sure. We could be trapped with the ‘Vint and the demon kid  _and_  end up with some undead.  _Way_  worse than a dragon.” A slight pause to poke at the fire once more, and then, “Actually, I’ve been wondering--there some sort of reasoning behind dividing the teams like you do? Besides covering more ground at once.”

“Well, that--I have a rotation list. In my head. Sort of. I want us all to get a feel for everyone else, but I’m also trying to navigate around who works best with who and who’s less likely to smother someone else in their sleep. It’s trial and error, like everything else I’ve done so far,” she shrugged. “Of course if you have any opinions on a better way to do this, I’m all ears.”

“Nah,” he shook his head, “just wondering if there was a method behind it. Or why we seem to spend more time in the same section than some of the others. Not that that’s a complaint, by the way. Just observation.” He looked at her carefully, expression warm but still unreadable to her.

“Oh,” she said, a little dumbly. In truth, she hadn’t really realized that near every out mission she’d been on since his recruitment had seen both of them out together, usually with the same two rogues sleeping behind them too. “I haven’t put much thought into it aside from the obvious.”

“Being?”

Another shrug. “We work well together, in my opinion. Don’t get me wrong, I trust Cassandra and Blackwall both, but there are little differences in a fight, I find. It’s... smoother, somehow. And besides that, it’s pleasant conversation during the breaks.” And it was, mostly. Unlike The Iron Bull, Isen didn’t exactly consider herself a people-person. She’d gotten better at it, certainly, but when it came to the company she voluntarily kept, the number of even semi-enjoyable choices were small.

“Pleasant, huh,” he echoed thoughtfully. “Well, you’re no ‘Vint, and you haven’t pulled any demons out of your ass or started up with blood magic. I guess it  _is_ pretty ‘pleasant.’” He was only half-joking, of course. In truth, he still found the whole situation bizarre if not still vaguely uncomfortable. A Dalish apostate at the head of a human-based growing military power? If he wasn’t watching it succeed first-hand, he wouldn’t have believed it himself.  _And as for figureheads themselves_ , he thought as he observed her periodically rubbing her hands together for warmth and tucking them back inside her jacket,  _a little unconventional. But we could do worse._

“Well, now that’s some high praise coming from our resident Qunari spy. I’ll have to write that one down in my personal memoir,” she said, smirking. “Anyway, for the rest of them--they’re not  _that_  bad,” she said with a slightly bemused smile. “Dorian is--well, alright, maybe a  _little_  Tevene. But good company--or at least, I think so? Definitely strange, but then again, everyone seems strange to me. I’m sure I seem odd to them too. And Cole... I’m still not sure, to be honest,” she frowned. 

“No?” He asked, seeming genuinely curious. “Thought all mages knew about that Fade crap.”

“Well, yes. To a degree, anyway, it’s kind of unavoidable if you want to have any control over what you’re doing. But Spirits like that aren’t really my area of expertise.” She held up both hands and wiggled her fingers almost sarcastically, sending off tiny spirals of frost that dissipated in the air near-instantly. “Elementalist. Focused on cold, mostly. So I really don’t know what to make of him or what he does inside our heads. I don’t think it’s harmful, though, and neither does Solas. Just... uncomfortable.” Too many times, she’d be out with Cole and find herself cutting him off abruptly. She wanted to be gentle, she did, but it was difficult when faced with nearly every part of her life that she wanted to forget. The nasty fighting with her mother after her father’s death, her clan’s rejection, all those years spent alone and the ones she lost to a mistake that almost saw her dead--she wasn’t so foolish as to think she’d never have to deal with those feelings again, but she was in no way prepared to have them aired out all at once, and in front of people she was supposed to be gaining the respect of, no less. Luckily, no one had confronted her about any of it, and she acted as though no one had heard. He was only trying to help, she knew, but...

“Uncomfortable. There’s an understatement,” he said with a grunt. “Shit like that’s exactly why the Qun doesn’t trust magic. Demons rattling around in your skull, picking through your brain and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

“I don’t think most human organizations are in the habit of employing demons either,” she remarked dryly. 

“You did,” he pointed out.

“There’s a hole in the sky and they’re calling a Dalish Elf the Herald of Andraste. I don’t think any part of this is going to fit a status quo. Besides,” she went on, “he’s been useful. And a nice boy to have around when he’s not inadvertently pulling skeletons out of the closet. We’ve had some very lovely conversations about the gardens at Skyhold.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “Good kid. Maybe. Definitely weird.”

An easy silence fell over the pair for a few moments after that. It was a clear night, and the stars were a dense blanket over the sky, visible through the trees in the grove where they’d stopped off. In the far distance, she could barely make out the flickering lights of the town. A thought came floating into her mind, a recent memory of one of Cole’s conversations with Iron Bull. They had a good professional relationship, sure, but she was undeniably curious about him, what made him tick. 

She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, thinking, before she spoke up again. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question? Sort of related.”

He straightened his spine slightly, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to alleviate some of the stiffness. “Ask away. Can’t guarantee an answer, but you’re free to ask.” 

She took the affirmative with a slight nod. “Right. There was one thing he picked out that I’ve been... a little curious about.” She shifted, going from a kneeling position to crossed legs. “Last time we were out with Cole, you mentioned something about having a plan to kill everyone you come across--something like that, anyway, I don’t remember the exact phrasing.”

“And let me guess--you’re wanting to know if I’ve thought the same of you?” He finished the unspoken question for her, though not unkindly. 

“Well, me, the rest of the Inquisition--not that I’m worried. But it is a strange thing to admit.” 

“Sure I have,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with one large hand, head bowed slightly towards her. “Old habit. And not one I’d call redundant, either. It’s good to have a plan just in case this whole thing goes ass up and someone needs a knife in the back.” 

“I see,” she said, contemplating. “Easy reasoning. Makes sense.” 

“No follow up asking how I’d do you specifically?” He asked lightly, somewhat amused by her quick acceptance. 

“If you want,” she chuckled, raising one shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t imagine I’d be overly hard to take down. A strong enough breeze could snap me in half. I doubt you’d have trouble.” 

He shook his head. “You’re probably not wrong there. But I’d have to close the distance first. Magic, range, all that ice you bring down over the field--nah, mages are best done when they’re least expecting it. No time to summon the demons if you don’t see the blow coming.” It was stated as fact, as if it was something she might’ve guessed herself if she took the second to think about it. “And  _then_  we can get to the snapping in half, if that’s really the way you want to go out.”

“No demons here,” she corrected shortly. “I’d sooner try to freeze the blood in your veins before I’d summon a demon. But I suppose that does make sense. What’s the saying again, extend one hand, arm the other?”

“Something like that.” He peered at her curiously. “And that doesn’t bother you? Knowing that I’ve got something in place for nearly everyone here?” 

“Mm, not really. I think I can at least see the logic of it all.” She looked back up at him with a level gaze. “And besides that, I like to think we’ve got a degree of professional trust here. So from me to you, if you’re going to do it, just go for my neck first and get it over with. I’ll even put it in writing if you’d like. Make an official contract with a seal and everything.” 

He barked out a sharp laugh at that, then remembered to quiet himself back down in the presence of sleeping comrades nearby. “You and I ever find ourselves on opposite sides, I’ll be sure to remember that one,” he chuckled. “Kinda figured it might not bother you as much as some people. You do the same thing.”

“Do I?” She asked, slightly surprised. “I hadn’t noticed. Here I thought I was just out for a fun day with friends.”

“Alright, maybe not  _exactly_ the same thing,” he amended, “but don’t tell me you don’t watch everyone carefully, mark down what they can or can’t do, looking for holes in the armour or a blind spot. The only difference is, you’re also looking for an exit. An opportunity for a kill if you absolutely have to, but you’re looking to make sure that when shit goes south, you know how to slip away from these people.” 

“I... suppose I hadn’t considered it like that before. Interesting.”

“Am I wrong?”

She pondered that, eyes turned back to the slowly dwindling flames. She picked up the same stick he’d used earlier and prodded at the fire, breathing a minute amount of life back into it. “You almost make me sound like a pacifist.” 

He scoffed. “Not even close. In the time I’ve known you, you’ve started to  _like_  the fight, Boss. Maybe not the whole thing. Definitely not as much as me,” he added with a tinge of pride, “but you’ve started to get a kick out of the rush. And you don't look the type at first, but I've seen the way you carry yourself. There's a bar fight or two tucked away in your past, no doubt. So no, not a pacifist. Try ‘focused on self-preservation’ instead.” 

She laughed, sounding grim near the edges. “Hardly. Before this mark and the hole in the sky, you’d have a very difficult time convincing me that I actually cared whether I woke up the next morning or not. I think ‘cowardly’ might be more the descriptor.” 

“No, see, the operative word of that sentence was ‘before.’  _Before_  the mark, well, I don’t know. I didn’t know you. Maybe cowardly  _would_  apply. Then again, so could a lot of other words. Either way, you’re good at running. So good you don’t even think about it when you’re forming the route.” She thought that was the end, but he continued. “And yet, that’s not what you’re doing now. I think you’re wrong about the motivation.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly at him. “Are you saying I don’t know my own driving forces?”

“Do you?” A simple question, just two words. And yet, the way they were spoken, with clarity and knowing that she couldn’t quite comprehend being comfortable with, left her with no solid response. He was observing her once more, as a Ben-Hassrath he never stopped doing so, but this time, he was giving her the benefit of open awareness. Bull hadn’t known her long, true, but there were certain things that were easy to piece together if you just poked below the surface. And sometimes you didn’t even have to go that deep. 

Isen ignored the question almost completely after a beat of silence. Blunt--she could appreciate that. And she wasn’t particularly offended by it either. It was, after all, his job, and just like the way he kept a plan to kill her one day, should it ever come to it, it wasn’t personal. She would  _not_  take it that way. 

“I know that I’m here,” she settled on finally. It wasn’t really an answer. “That’s really all that matters.” Truthfully, she didn’t really have control over what she did at this point--not yet. Oh, she was still the Inquisitor, but this still wasn’t her world. She went where she was told, told which decisions she ‘made’ would yield the best results, told who should be drawn into her inner circle--the help was much appreciated, and needed, but it wasn’t as if much of a choice existed to begin with. What she  _wanted_  was next to irrelevant at this point. 

“Listen,” he said, “it’s not a bad thing. And you’re doing alright at this--whatever 'this' is. Volunteering to take on the breach, putting up with those nobles--shit, I might’ve taken off from the start if that was me.”

“Flatterer,” she rolled her eyes. “That’s another one for my personal memoirs--compliments from the man who picked apart how to end my life most effectively.”

“Hey, everyone needs a hobby,” he shrugged. “Some people pick up knitting, some people write, and me? I do what I do.”

“Mm, yes, and I apparently spend my free time fantasizing about going back to an apostate’s life so I can pass out drunk in alleyways without being judged as the Inquisitor.”

“I never said we had  _good_  hobbies.” 

She laughed gently, any small feelings of negativity she may have felt dissipating with it. “I won’t argue with that. Still, though, I’m actually sort of glad you were forthcoming with that--again, it’s not that I don’t trust you, because obviously I do, but it’s just nice to have things on the table voluntarily.” 

“Ahh Boss, have I ever lied to you? Open dialogue, that’s all you’ll find here with The Iron Bull.” 

She laughed again, joining in with the sound of his own low rumble. An odd sort of conversation to take comfort in, but she scrambled for enjoyment where she could these days. If frankness about murder and abandoning responsibility was what it took, then that’s what it would be.  _You can’t really choose what resonates with people_ , she decided. Under the light of the stars and with the glow of the fire dancing off their skin, reclaiming sleep was the last thing on her mind.

With a teasing glint in her eye, she couldn’t help but ask, “So, Bull, if you’ve truly thought of everyone in the Inquisition, then what about... let’s see, what about  _Vivienne_?” 

“Oh, shit.”


End file.
